


Hot Topic Looks A Lot Like Hell

by Jessi



Series: Teen Angel 'verse [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Bunker Fic, Cas is also a shopping BAMF, Christmas Fluff, Fallen Castiel, Lingerie, Post Season 8, Punk Castiel, Rated teen for language, Shopping, Teen Angel 'verse, but totally ignores season 9, poor Dean braves the mall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessi/pseuds/Jessi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen Angel ‘verse 30 Day OTP Challenge: Shopping</p><p>As far as Dean is concerned, there’s literally nothing in this universe worse than a shopping mall in the weeks before Christmas, which is saying a lot if you consider that the guy has been to both Hell and Purgatory, witnessed the goddamn Devil wearing his baby brother’s face, and watched the love of his life die twice. So Dean really, really isn’t speaking lightly when he emphasizes just how much he fucking despises the mall in mid-December.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Topic Looks A Lot Like Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoisonousDame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonousDame/gifts).



> These fics are written for fans and brokenhearted queers with _needs_ so no you may not teach them in your class. I didn't go to college and neither will my fics. We're keepin' it real.
> 
> For my ladyfriend, because she had a crappy week, and nothing makes crappy weeks better like fluff does.

As far as Dean is concerned, there’s literally nothing in this universe worse than a shopping mall in the weeks before Christmas, which is saying a lot if you consider that the guy has been to both Hell and Purgatory, witnessed the goddamn Devil wearing his baby brother’s face, and watched the love of his life die twice. So Dean really, really isn’t speaking lightly when he emphasizes just how much he fucking despises the mall in mid-December.

Normally he’d just avoid it, had managed to for all but two Christmases in his entire life (one, in high school where a gorgeous cheerleader promised him a threesome with her equally gorgeous best friend if he bought her diamond earrings, the other the year he spent with Lisa and Ben where he made the trek to a hobby shop to get the telescope Ben had been dropping hints about since September). But this year is different, it’s a milestone, and though Dean despises sentimentality for the most part, he can’t help but get swept up in it this year. His first Christmas in his own home since he was three years old, Sammy’s first since Stanford and Jessica, the first Christmas they would actually celebrate since that ill fated one just before Dean’s trip to Hell, which leads to his main reason for holiday cheer. Castiel. It’s Cas’ first Christmas as a human, and his first as someone’s boyfriend. Dean is determined that it’ll be perfect, and is putting as much effort into making it so as he put into preventing the apocalypse and stopping the Leviathan. 

Which is why he’s standing in Hot Topic, surrounded by squealing teens, bedraggled soccer moms, and gruff middle aged white dudes in Dockers and sensible shoes, while godawful music reverberates off the red and black walls. There might be a strobe light. Dean isn’t sure. It might just be the approach of a panic attack. It’s pretty 50/50.

He takes a deep breath, and gets his bearings. Uses the same mental tricks that he uses when entering a vamp nest or a nasty haunting, and stalks in the direction of the shoe display, darting and dodging bodies. They have them, thank Cas’ dad.

Dean whirls until he spots an employee, the kid has two chunks of greasy black hair hanging in his face and it gives him the appearance of an especially angsty flop eared rabbit. Perched over the unfortunate mop is a Santa hat with little devil horns attached. The kid is wearing an oversized black sweatshirt that says “Satan Claus” in flashing Christmas lights. Dean can’t decide if he wants to ask the kid for help, or surreptitiously check to see if he’s a demon. 

“Hey!” Dean barks at the kid.

The kid saunters over, nice and slow like he’s got all the time in the world, and gets up close in Dean’s face, “Yeah?” he asks, bored and nasally. His breath smells like Camel menthols, ditch weed, and nachos.

“These, you got them in a twelve?” Dean holds up the oxblood 14 eye Doc Marten from the display.

The kid rolls his fucking eyes at Dean, “Lemme check, it’ll be a few minutes.”

Dean speaks from between clenched teeth, “Fine.”

The kid takes for-fucking-ever, and Dean is left to stand in the midst of mall goth chaos. It makes his skin itch, and he absentmindedly scratches at the back of his hand. It’s so goddamn hot, the dry artificially heated air, and the press of all the bodies, and he’s sweating in his many layers.

 _You’re doing this for Cas_ he reminds himself, and does it seven more times before the annoying clerk returns, blessed be, Doc Marten box in hand. Dean snatches it for himself, lifts the lid, oxblood, 14 eye, checks the size, perfect.

“Thanks.” he manages a clenched teeth smile at the kid.

“Uh huh.” the kid replies, affected boredom, then wanders off.

Dean tucks the box under his arm and heads for the register, or really, the line at least ten deep waiting for the register. After another half an hour, and sweat soaked all the way through his t-shirt and seeping it’s way into his over shirt, Dean is ready to pay.

The girl working the register doesn’t even look old enough to drive, hair dyed fire engine red and in two short clumpy pigtails on each side of her head, matching lipstick contrasting with the silver of her lip ring, and the glint of her braces.

“Is that all for you, sir?” she lisps out, and Dean grimaces at the ‘sir’.’ but nods.

She scans the bar code on the box, then gives Dean a wide metal smile, and asks, “Shopping for your son?”

Dean just grunts, anger racing through his body in waves. _Fucking goddamn teenagers_.

He pays, snatches the red and black shopping bag from the girl, and doesn’t even reply to her “Happy holidays!” as he leaves.

Out in the corridor it isn’t much better, bodies jostling and lurching in every direction, and Dean is smacked into by no less than three people before he manages to slump down onto an uncomfortable metal slatted bench. He closes his eyes and gives a sigh of relief to have a moment of peace, and even manages to tune out all the voices and the piped in tinny Christmas music roaring around him. 

Less than a minute later though, he’s back and alert, hunter’s instincts impossible to put on hold long. He checks his watch, and sees that there’s still another forty minutes before he’s supposed to meet Cas at the Starbucks in the food court. He starts to rise off the bench, figuring he’ll just make his way there at a leisurely pace, and maybe even reward himself with a peppermint mocha for being such a good sport and not killing anybody. As he stands, he spots a pink and purple sign for Claire’s. He remembers the store from his time with Lisa, sometimes she’d drag him in there so she could buy sets of earrings that made her ears itch, which he never understood, but they weren’t his ears, so he went along with it. He remembers Lisa explaining, “It’s really meant for teenage girls, but sometimes they have cute stuff, and it’s cheap, so...” and she had given a sheepish shrug. 

That explanation makes him think of Charlie, who arguably has the interests of a teenager, and he figures he can look and see if there’s anything small she’d like, her main gift already tucked away in he and Cas’ closet back at the bunker. 

Claire’s is of course crowded, but there aren’t any strobe lights, and the women working smile at him when he walks in. He looks around for awhile, not really finding anything, and feeling a bit ridiculous handling all the little shiny sparkly bits with his big calloused hands, and he’s about to leave when he spots them. It’s a set of two matching necklaces, the sort he remembers girls sharing with each other in junior high to let everyone know that they’re best friends. But instead of hearts, or yin yangs, or dolphins, these are a pair of simple silver wings, no writing, just delicate charms, hanging from simple black chords. Without even thinking about it he has the necklaces in hand, and is already almost at the register. 

When he reaches the register he sets the jewelry down and slides them across the counter to the clerk, and spotting a small rack of makeup adds a bottle of silver and blue glitter nail polish too. The clerk rings him up swiftly, and wishes him “Happy Holidays” with a kind smile, and Dean can’t help but reply in turn. He has a feeling it’s going to be a good Christmas.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At heart Castiel is a strategist, always has been, always will be. He approaches his Christmas shopping like he would a battle, so he quickly finds Nordstrom, and inside tracks down the perfect pair of tan suede slippers lined with fleece, because Dean refuses to wear socks around the bunker, and always complains his feet are cold. He pays for the gift, oblivious to the looks he’s attracting in the upscale department store, dressed in a black leather jacket covered in studs and safety pins, layered over a thick, waffle thermal lined maroon hoodie, forest green and navy plaid flannel bondage pants, his studded motorcycle boots, all his belts, cuffs, and baubles, and a grey slouchy beanie shoving his hair down so it almost meets his kohl lined eyes. 

After, he heads for Victoria’s Secret, and as the perky saleswoman wraps up his purchase, a tiny red velour nightie trimmed with white faux fur at the hem and the bust, complete with matching Santa hat, and white satin panties with mistletoe embroidered on the crotch, he can’t help but think to himself that it’s going to be a good Christmas.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even after the impromptu stop at Claire’s, Dean still manages to get to Starbucks almost ten minutes early, so he’s surprised to see Cas already seated at a table. The fallen angel is sipping at a mug of hot cocoa, unaware of the smudge of whip cream on his nose. Dean feels like his heart is so full it might burst right out of his chest, like that guy on the crazy cartoon case awhile back. He spots a mug across from Cas, because Cas, fallen or not, is still Dean’s angel, and already got him his peppermint mocha. On the floor next to Cas are two shopping bags, one of them Dean can’t make out the logo, but the one striped in shades of pink is unmistakeable. As Dean sits and leans across the table to kiss the whip cream off Cas’ nose, he thinks to himself, _a very good Christmas, indeed._


End file.
